Genny
by dr.thomas.light
Summary: A crime noir story, focusing on Detective Genevieve Benoit. In a world where crime is rampant and monsters are everywhere, the world is more fragile than anyone would possibly believe. CONTENT WARNING: Violence, Sexual Assault, Strong Language, Mature Themes


Chapter 1

* * *

The rain fell like bullets, each one piercing deeper into the overcoat that was already sagging around her shoulders. The drops weren't cool, that would be too much relief. The night was muggy, made more humid by the rain, and as Genevieve rounded the corner no protective overhangs were in sight.

She slowed as she turned the corner, seeing the canopy extending slightly from the convenience store. The air was foggy with cigarette smoke as a small group hid from the falling rain. A young woman with heavy makeup blew out a long stream of smoke, and looked up at her. The woman turned to her companion and whispered something. With a barely discernable pause, Genevieve regained her pace down the littered sidewalk.

A car drove past, and then another. Each one kicked up a sheet of rain. Her boots may as well have been made of paper, she thought, as they were doing nothing to keep her feet dry. A police siren in the distance, a garbage truck turning the corner. For the city, it was a quiet evening. She heard a window, struggling to stay shut, open overhead and a man yell out in… Chinese? She couldn't be sure. A reply from across the street pulled at her attention. She looked across the street to see two young boys look up at the yelling man, before running across her path and into a door a little ahead of her.

The rain, ceaseless and unyielding, streaked down the rim of her hat and onto her shoulders. She felt the weight of the water in her jacket.

Another car was coming up alongside now. Recognizing the sound of the motor, she fixed her hat slightly to obscure her face to the street. The patrolling police car slowly drove past her. Several rats, scrounging for food in the gutters on the street, ran as the car approached them. As it finally rounded the corner ahead, she let out a breath – unaware until now that she had been holding it. The rats, seemingly in a similar state, returned to their scavenging on the street. She looked at them with a mixture of disgust and contempt and, for a moment, they seemed to return her gaze.

She looked back over her shoulder and saw the group by the corner store had vanished. Likely scattered when the cops drove by. She began fixing her hat to once again keep the rain off her face, when she heard a sound from up ahead. It was hard to discern through the rain and the distant rumble of the highway but after a moment she distinctly made out the sound of someone sobbing. She quickened her pace toward the alley ahead.

The sound grew as she neared the corner. Reaching into her jacket she took a step into the void. The sobbing had stopped, and she scanned the ground near her feet for the person who had made it.

A hand suddenly reached out from the darkness and pulled sharply on her arm. With a yelp, she was dragged deeper into the alley. The hand's owner twisted on her arm and pulled her in front of him. Pain shot through the limb as he twisted it behind her. She lashed back with her free elbow, but the strong man leaned away from it, and then grabbed her free arm. She threw her head back, trying to strike him, but in response he pushed her into the alley wall. Her face hit the wall hard, and she tasted blood and salt. Twisting her head, she caught a glimpse of her attacker. His face flickered in what looked like firelight, now flickering and illuminating the dark alley.

As he pinner her to the wall she felt his hand pulling at her jacket, trying to lift it aside. She stomped down hard on the top of his foot, the puddle scattering with a splash around them. He yelled out in pain, and in that moment, she pushed herself hard, away from the wall, toppling them both over onto the rough alley pavement. Her arm momentarily freed, she tried to roll away from the man – but he had already gotten to all fours, and had lunged and gotten hold of her foot. Turning on her side she kicked at his hand. Hearing a sharp crack, she felt the man's grip loosen and his rumbling yell. In a tumble, she made it to her feet first, but the man was now between her and the entrance to the alley.

Seeing her chance as he rose to his feet, she ran toward her staggered attacker, with a haymaker destined to break his nose – when her arm was caught by another grip. This one tighter than the first, and altogether more painful.

She looked at her arm and saw a claw, about the size of a human hand, gripping down on forearm. Blood was blotching her shirt, and as she looked back she saw the scales glint red in the flickering firelight. Following the arm, she saw the creatures face – long, fanged, and vicious. It almost seemed to grin at her as it's grip tightened around her arm.

 _Fucking hell._

Her arm in burning pain, she dropped to her knees. The rain falling, unending, between the buildings did nothing to cool the burning. Steam rose off her arm as she saw the man, now on his feet, walk quickly toward them. He glanced at the scaled monster, and Genevieve was suddenly thrown back by her arm into a puddle on the alley floor. Arching her back in pain, she could no longer hear the city. She couldn't hear the cars passing, or the people yelling, or even the rain, unending, falling to the alley floor. She didn't even hear her own screaming. She only heard her own heart beating as the man wrestled her on the ground. He pulled at her bloody blouse as she reached under it. He ripped it open as her hand found purchase. The scaled monster let out a wild and silent roar. The alley, now awash in firelight showed her the man's eyes. For an instant, filled with madness, lust and fire. In the next instant, filled with fear. And with three loud cracks of her revolver, filled with nothing at all.

* * *

Walking into the bull-pen with a blanket over her shoulders, her eyes wandered the faces in the room. Her wounded arm was bandaged and in a sling, but she kept shrugging off the officers who escorted her in trying to help her walk. The large room was bustling with activity, despite the hour.

 _Crime never sleeps – how can we?_ She mused.

She felt eyes on her from all over the room, but as soon as she glanced toward the observers, the gazes were averted. She finally caught a friendly set of eyes behind a pair of glasses. With a quick glance, she was informed that their captain was unhappy, to say the least. Feeling an arm come up under hers, she shoved off another attempt by her escort to help into the bullpen.

'My legs aren't broken McCoy.' she snapped at the young officer, stopping mid-step.

The policeman shook his head in frustration and leaned back against a nearby desk.

'Christ Genn. You're a mess.' He responded, concern apparent in his voice.

With a bang, the double doors burst open behind them as the ambulance attendees pushed two carts with long black bags on them through the lane and toward the elevator doors. One of the officers by the elevator leaned close to the attending and quietly asked him something. They both glanced toward her.

'Not as bad as them.' she said, cocking her head toward the bags.

Officer McCoy put his hand on his forehead, and ran it through his short hair roughly. 'But, you're sure you're okay?'

She gave him a look that told him to stop asking. A streak of pain ran up her arm, and she fought to hold back a wince. Badly burned, she gingerly lifted her injured arm to put it in a better position in its sling. Footsteps behind her. Her heartrate jumped and she turned quickly. Seeing one of the ambulance medics approaching she let out her breath, and made an effort to steady herself again.

"Detective, as soon as you're done here we need to bring you to the hospital." The physician stated. "The damage to your arm is severe and we need to handle the burns within the next few hours if you want to avoid scarring."

"Fine… fine." She replied, nodding.

"We also need to run some tes-"

"FINE." She said, louder than intended. The buzz of the room dropped off for a moment, and then resumed. "Sorry, yes. Okay. As soon as we're done." She sputtered out uncomfortably.

Looking up she saw the Sergeant standing in his doorway. He gave her a serious look and pointed into his office then walked in leaving his door open.

She gave McCoy a shrug, and walked across the pen into her boss' office.

"Shut the door Benoit." He said curtly.

As she shut the door with her good arm, she quickly took the room in. The sergeant was sitting behind his polished wood desk – bookshelf behind him. The desk was old, more a part of the office than an accessory of its occupant. The rain tapped at the windows as Sergeant Rowe ushered her to sit down. She sunk down into one of the comfier chairs by the window.

"Are you alright Detective?" he asked.

The question turned her head; there was worry in his voice.

"What?" she responded.

"Are you… damn it. What the hell were you thinking – walking down 64th at this hour?" he asked, clearly upset.

"Sir?" she replied. "Sir, I am fully capable of-"

"That doesn't matter! You KNOW we have a violent rapist on the loose – " he paused "- had, a rapist on the loose."

She stared at him. "You don't think I fucking know? We've been trying to find him for a month!"

His elbows on his desk, his hands folded and his face resting behind them. He began to speak, when expression began to change from one of fear and worry to one of anger.

"You DO know. Are you… are you INSANE BENOIT?" his voice quickly raising from its former volume to a roar. "YOU WENT LOOKING FOR HIM!?"

She stayed perfectly still, like a lion tamer waiting to see what an angry cat will do before making her own move. "Well someone fucking had to." She shot back in a calm voice.

"You could have been killed! You would have been the sixteenth woman killed by this man in the last month!"

"There was a girl on the street corner tonight, no older than 18." Genevieve began, her eyes distant. "If I hadn't killed those two it could have been her. It could have been anyone else and we would have been at sixteen and then seventeen and then eighteen and we might never have ended it." Her own volume was increasing.

The sergeant was fuming. "Detective, no. There is no justifying this. This was reckless, foolish, and downright irresponsible."

She stood up from her chair and made toward the door.

"Where do you think you're going." he said more than asked, standing up behind his desk.

She sighed. "To the hospital Sergeant."

He took a deep breath, then let it out loudly. "This discussion is not over Detective. Give me a call when you get out of the hospital."

She paused and looked back at him. She saw that he had returned to worried and anxious. She nodded and reached for the door knob.

"Are you okay Benoit?" he asked once more.

She paused, hand on the door. "No." she replied, and closed the door behind her.

Making her way back through the bullpen, she saw McCoy at his desk talking with the medic and Detective Grenen. They stopped as she walked up to them.

"So, what's the word?" asked Grenen, fixing his glasses on his nose. "Is he busting you back down to beat cop?"

She raised an eyebrow at him as McCoy gave a small chuckle. "I don't know. I guess we'll find out when I get back." She said, exhaustion finally gaining a foothold in her voice. She put a hand up – the fluorescents were bothering her eyes.

"Let's go." She sighed to the ambulance medic.

As they prepared to leave she turned and gave her colleagues a brief smirk. "You know what – I don't think I'm getting demoted."

McCoy and Grenen looked at each other, then back at her.

"Why is that Genevieve?" Grenen asked with a crooked smile – taking the obvious bait.

"Because Officer Genny is a shitty title." She replied. "Detective sounds much better."

As she turned to walk away, she caught some bits of their resuming conversation.

"…yeah we were in the neighborhood but we didn't see her … she was defending herself … she dropped both him and his Charmeleon with a handgun…"


End file.
